Pink Elephants
by Rennie51
Summary: I received a request to post the slash version of 'Pink Elephants'. House forces Wilson to discuss a painful event. HouseWilson slash. Slash changes begin in Chapter 3.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Pink Elephants – SLASH VERSION

Author: Rennie51

Summary: House forces Wilson to talk about a painful event; emotions and revelations ensue. I received a request to post the slashversion of this story. House/Wilson slash. Slash changes start in Chapter 3.

Rating:T (some language), slash (nothing explicit)

Disclaimer:I don't own them.

PART I

James Wilson sat on House's sofa as he flipped through the latest issue of _Sports Illustrated_, enjoying the fact that this was the annual swimsuit edition, but surprisingly bothered by some of its content. The recently injured doctor looked tired and drawn, but his energy was gradually returning.

"This is pitiful," Wilson lamented, holding the magazine up for House's benefit.

House casually looked up from his _People_ magazine to note Wilson displaying a photograph of a very pretty young woman in a bikini romping on the beach. House scratched his chin. "Pitiful? He frowned. "What… is the world coming to an end? Since when don't you like looking at women in bikinis?"

Wilson shook his head, lowering the magazine and gazing at the picture again. "No…no, not the bikini. Look at this girl… she must be all of 95 pounds. What happened to curves? Women are supposed to have curves," he said. He looked up at House again, genuine annoyance on his face.

House regarded his friend noting that only a few signs remained of the physically and emotionally trying three months Wilson had just endured. He watched as Wilson casually flipped through the magazine, observing his boyish features and remembering how just a few weeks earlier there had been pain and fear etched on that face. It had been so bad that House had feared Wilson would never fully recover. But during that difficult time, House had never allowed Wilson to see the doubt he felt inside; he was there with the young doctor everyday, encouraging him, providing assistance and showing an optimistic façade for his friend's benefit. It was the least he could do since it was his fault that Wilson had been hurt.

House and Wilson had never discussed the shooting that had nearly taken Wilson's life, and that fact grated on House. If he and Wilson were to remain friends the details of that terrible day needed to be brought out into the open. While House might be able to live with himself believing that he was at fault, he certainly couldn't live with himself knowing … or even suspecting… that Wilson felt he was to blame. And he had to know. There was only room enough in this relationship for the two of them … pink elephants took up too much space and tended to crowd one's living area, eventually taking over and smothering the life out of the people whose lives they had invaded. So House needed to get Wilson to talk about that day, and he had decided that tonight was the night … this night would determine whether he and Wilson could remain friends.

House continued to watch as Wilson grew more engrossed in the magazine, almost amused at his own internal conflicts while his friend sat there innocently, completely oblivious to what lay ahead this evening. The fact that Wilson had never brought the topic up before obviously meant that he didn't want to talk about it. Either he blamed House and didn't want House to know, or he didn't blame him… but House had to know, not only to rid the room of the huge pink elephant taunting him, but also in order for their friendship to survive. There was always the chance that Wilson simply didn't remember what had happened and avoided the issue to spare himself the details of what was clearly a painful event. But whatever the reason, House knew they had to discuss it, for both their sakes.

He took a deep breath and looked away from Wilson, taking the opportunity to sneer at the elephant lounging in the corner of the room. He looked back at Wilson.

"So why haven't you ever asked me what happened that day?" House asked, his eyes trained on Wilson's face. He watched Wilson closely for a reaction, which he received in the form of him flinching slightly while avoiding House's gaze. He continued. "I would think that you'd be somewhat curious to know the details of an incident that almost took your life. So, what is it… don't care? Don't wanna know? What?"

Wilson shifted uncomfortably on the couch. "I didn't ask you because…. well, because I remember what happened," he replied, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. "And what makes you think that I don't remember?" He looked at House, still unaware that House had planned this discussion for a specific reason.

"Because it's well documented that people often repress traumatic events. So, I just assumed that you didn't," House said. But even as he spoke those words, he believed that Wilson remembered. Now he just had to get him to talk about it. Wilson again avoided House's gaze and turned his attention back to the magazine.

"Well, I remember what happened and I don't want to talk about it," he said adamantly.

"Well, I do."

"Well, I don't."

"I do."

"I said no."

"You lose," House insisted, eyes boring into Wilson so intently, Wilson could feel them as he pretended to study the magazine.

"Why are you so intent on bringing this up?" Wilson asked, annoyance apparent in his voice.

"Well…because this is my apartment, because you're drinking my beer, because I'm older, because…well, just because. Take your pick." Wilson sighed heavily and looked at House, not saying anything. House continued. "Okay, how about this? We need to discuss this because there's a huge pink elephant in the corner of the room that I'm tired of looking at."

"What?" Wilson scowled at House; he had no idea what House was talking about, but he knew he was going to lose this argument, as he did most of them. So, as much as he didn't want to talk about what happened that day, he knew he had to or House would not give him a moment's peace.

"Okay, House, what do you want to know?"

"Tell me what happened."

Wilson sighed again. "We were in the clinic, at the nurses' station. Frank Petrone came in…. he was angry…furious. He accused you of killing his son." He tried to sound as unemotional as possible as he recited the events of that day, but he spoke haltingly and it was obvious that he was having a difficult time.

Wilson went on. "You told him that if anyone was responsible for killing his son, it was him, for waiting so long to bring him in for treatment." He stopped talking and looked over at House. "I remember I told you to 'shut the fuck up'". He continued to look at House a few moments longer for effect, then turned his attention back to the floor. "When I looked back at Petrone he had a gun pointed at you. It took me a moment to realize that it was a gun because I figured the metal detectors would've picked it up."

"Gotta love those plastic guns," House said. Wilson gave House an annoyed look. "Sorry, go on."

"You know the rest; do I really have to…."

"Yes, you do!" House barked. He hesitated when he saw the startled look on Wilson's face. "Please go on," he added, his voice softer.

Wilson sighed. "Petrone had the gun pointed at you and …"

He stopped talking. House waited a few moments.

"Don't stop now, Dr. Wilson, you're just getting to the good part."

"I…he…. I didn't have time to think. I wanted to push you out of the way, but I wasn't close enough, so I moved in front of you…"

"Hoping that your super duper doctor shield would save us both?" House shook his head. "Damn it, James, when are you going to learn that I'm not worth it?"

"When are you going to learn that you are?" Wilson shot back.

House looked away; Wilson continued. "The next thing I remember was waking up in ICU four days later." Wilson took a deep breath, and without looking at House, began to stand. "Okay, happy now? I'm…."

"Sit down!" House commanded.

Taken aback, Wilson turned to look at House angrily, but obeyed and sat back down on the couch. "What, House?" This was not easy for him and he was becoming increasingly aggravated with House for forcing him to relive that day.

"Now it's time to get rid of the pink elephant," House replied, and gestured with his cane to the corner of the room towards the imaginary elephant. He took a deep breath before asking the question, the one that had plagued him since that day. "So, Dr. Wilson, do you blame me?"

Wilson looked towards House questioningly. "Are you serious? You actually think I blame you? It was _my_ choice to move in front of you and it was Petrone who shot the gun." He now understood what House meant about the pink elephant, although he never felt House was to blame.

"Some people said I provoked him," House replied, insides churning, but remaining calm outwardly. "And while I'm not really the type of person to do that, I guess some people could make a case for it." He smirked.

"Some people? What 'some people'?"

"We're talking about you now."

"I can't believe you think I could blame…"

"I didn't say I think you do. But I need to hear you say that you don't."

"I don't, I never have."

There was silence in the room for a few minutes as House watched the elephant fade away, replaced with a strong sense of relief. He had needed to hear this. But there was more to be said. His best friend was struggling, but he couldn't let it end here. He needed to let Wilson know how he felt; this entire conversation was long overdue.

Again, Wilson attempted to make his escape. He started to get to his feet again. "So, we're done here…."

"No!"

"Jesus, House, what do you want from me?" Wilson was exasperated. Why wouldn't House just leave him alone?

There was more that House had to say and, apparently, now was the time to say it. Since he had needed to hear Wilson say that he didn't blame House for the shooting, it was only fair that Wilson hear these words from House. He looked straight at Wilson. "Thank you for saving my life," House said quietly.

There was silence in the room, House staring at Wilson, Wilson staring at the floor, incredulous at what he had just heard. During these past three months he and House had never discussed the shooting, hence the appearance of the pink elephant. But while it grated on House, Wilson was okay with it. He never blamed House and he assumed House knew that. And he also assumed that House was grateful to him for saving his life. Yet, today, House insisted on the words being said. And hearing them, for Wilson, was too much to take. He had never cried those many weeks since the shooting, those weeks of intense physical and emotional pain, fear, anger. He didn't allow himself to, instead channeling all of his energy to recovering, using his emotional strength to think as positively as he could under the circumstances. House had been there with him every step of the way watching his back, being House, not allowing Wilson to dwell on his injury and difficult recovery. But, today, House insisted they say the words, and all the emotions that Wilson had managed to keep under the surface were pushing their way up while he fought against hope to keep that from happening.

They continued to sit there quietly, House watching Wilson intently, Wilson staring at the floor, fighting a losing battle with his emotions. His hands clenched in fists on his lap, his body tense, and then water started to fill his eyes. He quickly wiped away the tears with his sleeve, but they kept forming and he couldn't keep up. Finally it became too much for him so he gave in, quietly crying while looking at the floor, very aware that House was watching him, but not caring.

After a few moments had passed, he felt House sit on the couch next to him, saw him lay his cane on the floor through blurry eyes. Then he felt House's arm around his shoulder, pulling him towards him. Wilson avoided looking at House's face, fully aware that House was as uncomfortable with this show of emotion as Wilson was, but he allowed himself to be held against House's chest. At that point, Wilson grasped House's shirt in his hands and continued to cry.

He didn't know how long he had been crying; all he knew was that he couldn't cry anymore and he needed to get away from House. He pulled away and sat up, House not resisting. Not looking at him, Wilson again wiped his eyes with his sleeve. A handkerchief appeared in front of him which he gratefully accepted. "Thanks", he said, stood up and turned to go into the bedroom.

"You okay?"

"Yeah. I'm good."

"Well, that's more than I can say for my shirt," House said surveying his tear soaked shirt.

Wilson smiled tentatively as he continued to the bedroom. He headed for the bathroom to wash away the lingering emotions.


	2. Chapter 2

PART II

Wilson came out of the bedroom wearing a pair of House's sweatpants and t-shirt, his hair slightly damp from the shower. He looked over towards House who was reading a medical journal, still sitting in his chair.

"Is this okay?" Wilson asked. "I needed to get out of those clothes." He gestured towards his outfit and looked at House questioningly as he continued walking towards the kitchen.

House looked up nonchalantly, belying his feelings. Seeing Wilson cry like that was almost too much for him to take. But Wilson was obviously feeling better, so House kept up the flow of the conversation. "Well, if you're asking me if you look okay, I'd have to say that the sweats are too long and the shirt is too tight, not the best look for you."

Wilson stopped and turned towards House, looking himself over. "You just don't want to admit that your clothes look better on me than they do you," he said with an annoyed tone. "And you know what I meant."

"If you cared whether I cared, you would've asked me first," House said, trying to sound bothered. He cocked his head as he slowly moved his eyes over Wilson. "But now that you mention it, I guess that tight shirt does do something for you. In a gay, 'check out my hot pecs' sort of way."

"You are so damned difficult," Wilson exclaimed as he turned back towards the kitchen. "And my pecs are none of your business." He opened the refrigerator door. "Wanna beer?"

"You love that I'm difficult…. turns you on. Yeah…I'll take one."

Wilson appeared at the kitchen door and tossed House a bottle, House barely catching it. "You're lucky that I caught that, otherwise you and your hot pecs would be cleaning beer off my floor," House called out.

"What is it with you and my pecs?" Wilson asked, rummaging through House's pantry for a snack. "And it's not my fault that you catch like a girl."

"Oh, Dr. Wilson, was that a sexual reference?" House asked teasingly. "Because it certainly sounded like one to me." House smiled as he guzzled his beer.

Wilson returned to the living room, open beer in hand with a bag of potato chips, a bag of nachos, and a container of dip. He laid everything out on the coffee table and dropped down on the couch. "You wish," he replied as he grabbed the remote and turned on the television.

"Well, to be totally honest, I have to say that I might have wished at one time, but if you continue to eat like that you'll lose that boyish figure and I'll have to look elsewhere for my voyeuristic gratification."

"Thanks for the warning. Here…" Wilson tossed one of the bags to House. "Let's get fat together."

House smiled as he opened the bag of chips and turned his attention towards the TV. Wilson had turned to the Speed channel, and they both sat and watched Nascar racing while indulging in their chips and beer.

After several minutes, Wilson glanced over to House, then back to the TV. "So, who blames you?" he asked, his attention still on the screen.

"I thought you didn't want to talk about this, " House said, when, in fact, he was the one who didn't want to get into this discussion.

Wilson looked over to House who had his eyes fixed on the TV screen. "We're talking about you now."

House smirked. "Okay. I know for a fact that Foreman does, I have a strong feeling that Chase does too. I haven't gotten any vibes from Cameron and I know that Cuddy feels the way you do…. well, at least I get the feeling that she does," he said, clearly uncomfortable discussing this.

"What about you, House? Do you blame yourself?" House looked at Wilson, who was now watching him intently.

This was the one question that House was dreading, but he knew it had to be asked sooner or later. And it was only right that tonight be the night, he thought, since he was the one who had forced Wilson to talk about that terrible day earlier in the evening.

House cleared his throat, looking away from Wilson, then turned back to face him. "I blame myself everyday," he said quietly. "You almost died because of me." He hesitated. "I ask myself everyday, _why couldn't I just have talked to him...placated him_…. but I let my pride get in the way." House looked down at his lap. "I almost got you killed," he whispered. He looked back up at Wilson. "You should hate me."

Wilson shook his head. "I could never hate you," he said quietly. House looked away. "Look at me, House."

House slowly turned towards Wilson and their eyes locked. "It's not your fault. I saw Petrone's face when he came into the clinic; he was crazed. I'm pretty sure it wouldn't have mattered what you had said to him."

House took a deep breath. "Thanks…. for that," he said, a slight smile on his lips. "But my staff didn't see his face, they only know what I said, and well…." His voice trailed off.

"If you want, I can talk to…."

"No. They'll get over it."

"How do you know that Foreman blames you?"

"Well, I guessed it when he came out and told me," House said, shrugging his shoulders.

"Ouch" Wilson said, slightly flinching. "Are you sure you don't want me to…."

"I'm sure," House said agitated. "But thanks," he added, his voice softer.

They continued to watch the race in silence. After about 15 minutes, Wilson picked up the remote and turned off the television.

"You better have a good excuse for doing that," House warned, "or don't plan on getting any from me tonight," he said placing his hands on his hips in mock anger.

Wilson turned his attention towards the floor. "I'm…uh…." He looked back up at House. "I'm thinking of accepting a position with UCLA Med Center," he said as he placed his elbow on the couch armrest and rubbed his forehead lightly. "They've offered me Director of Oncology in Clinical Research." He continued to rub his forehead as he watched House and waited for a reaction.

House was stunned at Wilson's news and didn't attempt to hide it. He stared at Wilson for several moments, his eyes blinking, silently attempting to formulate a reply that belied his sudden rush of anger. "How long?" he asked, managing to keep his voice steady but not quite able to completely hide his feelings at this sudden announcement.

"How long what? How long 'til I leave? How long…"

House cut Wilson off angrily. "How long have you known that you wanted to leave?"

Wilson nodded in acknowledgement of the question. He knew House wouldn't like the answer. "Since before the shooting," he said quietly. "But it was afterwards that I decided that I would probably take the position."

House clenched his jaw and rested his head on the back of the chair. "Why didn't you tell me?" he asked looking up at the ceiling, his voice low and controlled.

Wilson didn't reply. House looked directly at him. "Why didn't you tell me?" he asked again, his voice raised but still controlled.

Wilson shifted uncomfortably on the couch, rubbing the back of his neck while looking down towards the floor. "Because you're the reason I'm leaving," he answered. He hesitantly looked at House preparing himself for his reaction.

House, even more stunned at this news, slowly shook his head in disbelief at what he had just heard Wilson say. They locked eyes, Wilson looking apologetic, House staring blankly into Wilson's eyes. He cleared his throat and turned away. "Well, Dr. Wilson, you sure know how to make a guy feel wanted," he said, a small smile escaping from his lips. He ran his hand through his hair and looked back towards Wilson, this time his eyes boring into his. "What the fuck's going on with you?" he asked, his voice unsteady.

Wilson sighed. The last thing he wanted to do was to hurt House, but he now realized that that was impossible; hurt was inherent in this entire messed up scenario. All he could do was to explain as best he could, hoping that House would understand. Or at the very least, that House wouldn't hate him. He began explaining slowly.

"After Julie left, I didn't know how I would be able to go on with my life here in Princeton. It wasn't because she hurt me… I knew our marriage was over a long time ago…. it was because I felt so lost." He paused. "You always joke about how I need to be needed…. and after she left…" his voice trailed off. He took a deep breath and leaned back against the couch. "After she left, I spent a long time trying to figure things out. Why my marriage…. well, all my marriages…. failed, why I was so unhappy even when Julie and I were getting along, why I needed more and not knowing what it was that I did need. I guess you must've noticed that I threw all my energy into work after she left; I was always at the hospital. I was exhausted. It didn't take long for me to realize that work wasn't the answer; I was still miserable."

He looked at House. "And then I finally figured out why. It was because of you."


	3. Chapter 3

PART III

House felt as if he had just been punched in the stomach. His best friend…. his only friend in the world had just told him that he wanted to leave Princeton and move to Los Angeles to get away from him. Why? He couldn't for the life of him understand. Wilson had never let on that he had a problem with House…. they had always spent a lot of time together, before and after Wilson's marriage had ended. It's true that they never discussed their feelings, but they were extremely close, they enjoyed each other's company…. at least House thought so until tonight. And Wilson had said that he felt this way _before_ the shooting; if he had said he felt this way afterwards, there might be a logical reason…. logical in Wilson's mind anyway…. that would explain why he might want to leave. But Wilson distinctly said that House was the reason he wanted to leave...why…why…why? In those few moments after Wilson had said those words to him, House had tried frantically to come up with a reason…something… to explain it all.

House looked up from the floor and noticed that Wilson was looking at him questioningly.

"What do you want me to say?" House asked sadly.

"I just want you to answer my question."

"You asked me something?"

"I asked you why you spend so much time with me."

House felt himself becoming angry. "Wait a minute. You just told me that you want to move to the other side of the country to get away from me. And then you ask me why I spend so much time with you? Are you fucking nuts? You should be the one explaining, not the one asking the questions," he spat.

Wilson sighed deeply. "Okay, I guess I deserved that," he said as he leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, staring at the floor. After a few seconds, he looked up at House and leaned back on the couch. "You and I are friends… and we've been pretty close for a really long time. We've seen each other through a lot…."

"I don't need a recap of our lives," House interjected angrily. "Just tell me what the fuck is going on." As he spoke, he felt a stab of pain in his leg and realized that it had been hurting for the past 15 minutes. He grabbed the Vicodin bottle off the end table and quickly swallowed one.

"If you'll just shut up for a minute, I will!" Wilson barked back. He took a deep breath and after a few moments continued to talk more calmly. "I told you that after Julie left I spent a lot of time going over things in my head, trying to figure everything out. Well, I finally did, and it wasn't exactly what I had expected."

He looked up at House who was nodding, urging Wilson to continue. "Look, House, you know I like women…. I love women…. I love having sex with women, but when it comes to emotional attachment and a making a true commitment, well, I guess I've never really been able to do that with a woman. Which is obvious by the amount of times I've been married. It took some time and fighting the denial, but I finally understood what was going on with me."

Wilson glanced at House and quickly turned his gaze to the floor. "I started thinking about you and me and all the time we spend together, how I feel when I'm with you, how I feel when I'm not with you. I…. I realized that you're the only person in my life that I was ever truly committed to. I needed you in my life and I started to feel…and believe me, this scared the Hell out of me…. I started to feel that I needed to…that I wanted to…. to be intimate with you." Wilson stopped talking and felt his face getting hot, turning red. He leaned forward and covered his face with his hands. He had never felt so vulnerable in his life.

House didn't know what to say. This had been a night of stunning revelations that had already exhausted him and now Wilson had hit him with this. He wanted to help Wilson, but he wasn't sure he could, especially after what Wilson had just said to him. So, he did his best.

"Why didn't you talk to me about this?" he asked quietly.

Wilson took his hands away from his face and looked up at House. "You're kidding, right? You think it would've been easy for me to walk up to you and tell you this? You would've punched me in the face," he said, laughing bitterly.

"Don't tell me what I would've done."

"Okay, that's fair," Wilson said. "So, I'm talking to you about it now."

"And what exactly are you telling me, James? That you think I'm your soul mate and you figured I wouldn't understand so that's why you want to leave?"

Wilson looked at House through narrowed eyes. "God, House, you can be a real bastard sometimes," he said. After sitting quietly for a moment he looked up as if he had come to a decision. "This is a mistake." He stood and walked towards the door. "I'm sorry I said anything, just forget it." He reached for the doorknob.

"James! You're not going to do this to me. You're not going to drop this bombshell and then walk away. You owe me this much." House shouted angrily.

Wilson stopped, placing his hands on his hips and staring at the door. After a few moments, he turned around and looked at House. Their eyes met and Wilson nodded slightly as he walked back to the couch and sat back down.

House sighed. "I don't mean to sound cruel, James. I just don't understand why you'd leave over something like this," he said questioningly.

Wilson looked incredulous. "Did you hear what I just told you? I said I wanted to sleep with you!"

"You forget, Dr. Wilson, that I'm not the one who has the reputation of being a skirt chaser. So, if you thought I'd be furious, you're very much mistaken."

Wilson was confused. "So…so what are you saying? You're not shocked by what I just told you? You feel the same way?"

"Well, no, I am shocked, but only because I never expected to hear something like this from you, Dr. Panty Peeler. As far as the way I feel, we're talking about you now."

Wilson scowled at House. He felt House was being his usual difficult self and this was not the time. He was baring his soul to House and was angry at his flippant remarks. He contemplated getting up and walking out again, but then he saw House's face soften.

"You said you decided to leave after the shooting" House said quietly. "Why?

Wilson rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm sure you know that my recovery was the hardest thing I've ever gone through in my life," he said quietly. "When I was getting better, you were there all the time, everyday, helping me get through this thing; I wanted you there so badly, but I also wanted you to leave and just let me recover by myself. I knew that having you there all the time wasn't helping me deal with my feelings. They got worse…. or stronger, I guess…. and I pretty much went over the edge as far as you were concerned. I knew I couldn't stay here and have you in my life the way it's always been. I'd only be fooling myself; I'd never be happy. I didn't want to live my life that way."

Wilson stopped talking and thought for a moment. "I didn't know how I was going to tell you that I was leaving, and I certainly didn't want to go into why…. but then tonight, when you started talking about the shooting, I don't know, I couldn't hold it in anymore."

Both men were silent, each lost in their own thoughts. Finally, Wilson realized that he had to finish what he had started.

"So, now you know everything," he said almost in a whisper.

"When did you plan on leaving?" House asked.

Wilson looked up at him, struck by the finality of that question. "I…I guess I'll tell Cuddy on Monday…. I'll give her a month's notice so…"

"What if I asked you to stay?"

"You can't do that."

"And why not?"

"House, I just told you that I can't stay here with things being the way they've always been…."

"So, we'll make a change," House said quietly.

"Do you know what you're saying?" Wilson asked, a surprised look on his face.

"I know perfectly well what I'm saying."

Wilson looked away. No…he couldn't expect House to do this. This was too much to ask of a friend. Suddenly he felt ashamed and couldn't bring himself to look at House. He stood up abruptly and walked quickly into the bedroom.

House grabbed his cane from the side of the chair and got to his feet as quickly as he could. He steadied himself and followed Wilson into the bedroom. He found him gathering all his belongings and tossing them onto the bed.

"What are you doing?" House asked, even though he knew the answer.

"What does it look like I'm doing? I'm leaving," Wilson replied tersely.

"Well, stop it."

"No, _you_ stop it!"

"I'm not the one who's packing everything."

Wilson dropped what was in his hands and stood looking at the floor. He sat down on the edge of the bed, leaning his elbows on his knees and resting his head in his hands. He shook his head. "I don't know what to do anymore," he whispered.

House walked over and sat down next to him, laying his cane on the floor. He put his arm around Wilson's shoulder and pulled him closer.

"House, what are you doing?" Wilson asked, afraid to look at him.

"I'm comforting you," House replied. "Am I doing it wrong?"

"No, actually, you're doing it quite well."

House rested his hand on Wilson's shoulder. "Look, James, I certainly don't know what's going to happen, but I do know what I don't want to happen. And that's for you to leave. I want you to say. Please stay."

Wilson pulled away from House and stood to face him, his hands on his hips. "Why, House? Why would you want me stay? I told you that I need you in my life, that I want to commit to you, that I want more than a friendship. Unless you can say the same to me, there's no reason for me to stay." Wilson rubbed his tired eyes, still red from crying earlier that evening. "I don't expect anything from you; that's why I'm leaving."

House patted his hand on the bed. "Come over here and sit down," he said quietly. A look of hesitancy came over Wilson's dark eyes as they slowly moved from House's hand to his penetrating blue eyes. "Come on…. I'm not going to bite you," House said, a hint of a smile on his lips. "Unless of course you want me to."

Wilson did as he was told, sitting down on the bed next to House, his eyes focused on the floor. "I want you to stay because you're the only person in the world that I care about," House said.

Wilson smiled sadly as he shook his head. "Yes, Dr. House, I know you care about me. But that doesn't mean you want everything else…."

"Look, James, you told me that you had a lot of time to think about this and that it took you some time to understand your feelings. Now I'm asking you to do the same for me. I told you that I want you to stay, even though there are times when you could be a real pain in the ass. So give me some time. Will you just do that for me, please?"

Wilson looked at House and saw the sincerity in his eyes. "I guess I can do that, although after that pain in the ass remark, I'm not so sure I want to." He smiled. "Do you think we can work this out?"

House brushed a piece of stray hair from Wilson's forehead, then lightly caressed his cheek with the back of his fingers. "Well, I'm willing to give it try if you are," he said.

Wilson genuinely smiled at House's words. They both sat quietly for a moment, then Wilson let out a short laugh.

"What?" House asked.

"Can you imagine what your staff and Cuddy would say if they…"

"Forget about them" House said. "We're talking about us now."


	4. Chapter 4

Slash starts in this chapter, but nothing explicit.

Part IV

It had been two weeks since Drs. House and Wilson had had the discussion in House's apartment concerning the future of their relationship. But as important and potentially life altering as that discussion had been, neither had mentioned it since. Not one word. But it wasn't because they hadn't been thinking about it; no, they hadn't discussed it due to unrelated circumstances.

Wilson had returned to work and had been overwhelmed bringing himself up to speed with his old cases, as well as meeting his new patients who had started treatment during his recovery. And House had been involved in two difficult cases of his own, cases that demanded most, if not all, of his time…. doing research, meeting with his staff, getting in his clinic hours and ducking Cuddy. Between the two doctors, neither had had time to socialize with the other. The only contact they managed to squeeze in were professional consults or quick lunches in the cafeteria. Both worked long hours at the hospital, including weekend hours, and each left late in the night, going home to their respective apartments and falling into bed.

It was finally Friday, and for the first time in two weeks House was able to unwind from the whirlwind past two weeks. One of his patients had been discharged that day, however, while the other patient was stable, House and his staff still had not come up with a definitive diagnosis, although House was sure that he knew the answer. The problem was, no one agreed with him. But since the patient was in no immediate danger, House allowed his recommended treatment to be delayed until Monday. He told Foreman, Cameron and Chase that if they didn't come up with another good diagnosis by Monday, he wanted them to start his treatment, risky as it was. As he stretched out in his chair, he put on his headphones, leaned back and closed his eyes, resting his head on the back of the chair.

At that moment Wilson walked in carrying his coat and briefcase, looking as exhausted as House. He dropped his belongings on one chair and sank down into the other, lifting his feet up and laying them on top of his coat. He rested his head on the back of the chair and closed his eyes. They both sat there silently for about five minutes.

"House, what are you doing?" Wilson asked, his eyes still closed.

No response.

"House, I know you're not listening to anything," he said.

House opened one eye and lifted his head, peering at Wilson. He sat upright opening his other eye. "What makes you think I'm not listening to anything?" he asked, annoyed.

"Because I can't hear a sound," Wilson said, stifling a yawn. "I can usually hear that thing all the way down the hall."

"I can't help it if you have x-ray ears," House said. "I have it on low."

"There's no such thing as x-ray ears. I think you mean super human hearing," Wilson said, his eyes still closed. "And you don't have it on low."

"Dr. James Wilson, boy wonder oncologist, who not only has an adorable little ass to die for, but who possesses super human hearing as well."

"I try," Wilson said, still in his resting position.

House threw the headphones down onto his desk. "It usually works with everyone else. They think I'm listening so they leave me alone."

Wilson sat up and looked at House. "Ah, yes," he said nodding with understanding. "Dr. House, the mentor to his staff, always encouraging his underlings to come to him with their problems."

House scowled, turning his chair to face Wilson, wincing in the process.

"What, your leg hurts?" Wilson asked, concern in his voice.

"No, my ass hurts. Of course my leg hurts. Must you always state the obvious?" House barked, downing a vicodin in the process.

"Sounds like Dr. Someone got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning," Wilson said, his eyebrows raised.

"No, Dr. Someone has to do an extra hour of clinic duty next week."

"Oh. So you pissed off Cuddy, did you?"

"Actually I pissed off the Mother of a patient who ratted me out to Cuddy who then got pissed off at me," House explained.

"What'd you do now?" Wilson asked, shaking his head.

"Nothing."

"You did nothing."

"That's what I said."

"So how did you piss off the Mother?"

"I just told you. I did nothing. I told her there was nothing wrong with her son."

"And Cuddy gave you an extra hour of clinic duty for that?"

"Well, I may have told the Mother that she was sentencing her son to a lifetime of being a mama's boy, who, when he grows up, won't be able to have sex with any other woman but her."

"Sounds valid to me," Wilson said, as he leaned back in the chair again and rested his head.

"Exactly. That's what I thought," House said, feeling vindicated.

"No, I mean the extra hour of clinic duty sounds valid," Wilson clarified, his eyes closed.

"Traitor."

House thought a moment. "If you were any kind of a friend, you would volunteer to do that extra hour…."

"Don't even go there, House," Wilson warned.

Wilson sat up again and looked at House. "I'm going home," he declared as he stood up, bending down to pick up his coat and briefcase from the chair. But as he did so, House's cane came down on top of his belongings blocking Wilson's access.

"Jesus, House, you almost whacked my hand," Wilson said annoyingly.

"Well, isn't that what happens to naughty little Catholic boys when they do something bad?" House asked, a glint in his eye.

"I'm Jewish."

"Oh, oh yeah. So what do they do to little naughty Jewish boys?" But before Wilson could say anything, House kept talking. "Oh, I forgot, little Jewish boys are punished five minutes after they're born…snip snip," he chuckled.

Wilson looked at House, his hands on his hips. "I know for a fact that you were also circumcised as a baby," he said.

"How the Hell could you know that?"

"Your Mother told me," Wilson replied. "The same time she told me that you liked to pull your diaper off and throw it out the window."

"Keep talking, Wilson," House warned, "and you'll wish you never met me."

"I wish I never met you now."

House clutched his chest as if he had been shot.

"Look, House, I'm tired, move the cane so I can get my things," Wilson said, his voice sounding as exhausted as he looked.

"Why not stay at my place?" House asked as he slowly stood and removed the cane.

Wilson looked at House while retrieving his coat and briefcase. "Uh…well, it's late and I'm tired," he said, somewhat reluctantly.

"So, stay over," House repeated as he, too, began gathering his belongings.

"You mean, sleep over?"

"Yeah, that's it. We'll have a sleepover. We can make s'mores and sit in our baby doll pajamas and talk about boys," House said. "Maybe even play spin the bottle."

Wilson gave him a sideways glance as a small smile slowly spread across his lips. "Sounds like fun," he said, as he put on his coat and waited for House to gather his things.

They left House's office together.

House and Wilson walked into House's apartment, House turning on the lights while Wilson hung his coat in the hall closet, placing his briefcase on the floor.

"I think maybe this was a bad idea," Wilson said sounding annoyed while he closed the closet door.

House barked at him as he tossed his jacket onto a chair. "Too late now, your car's still at the hospital… and you can't use my car." He sneered at Wilson's back.

Wilson turned to look at House, his hands on his hips. "Look, House, I didn't say I didn't agree with you, I just said that maybe you should look at other options."

"I don't need to look at other options, I know I'm right," House shouted in anger.

Wilson put his hands up in exasperation. "There's just no talking to you!" he said, his voice raised.

"I know you're exhausted, maybe you should just get some sleep," House said in a quieter tone.

Wilson took a deep breath. "Yeah, I am…that's a good idea," he said as he headed for the spare bedroom. "Good night."

House watched Wilson as he headed towards the spare bedroom. "No, use my bedroom," he ordered.

Wilson stopped and looked at him questioningly. "Sleep in your bedroom?" He thought for a moment. "No."

"Why not?"

"Because…. it's _your_ bedroom; I'm the guest, I'll sleep in the guest bedroom," Wilson replied, speaking slowly.

"I don't have a guest bedroom…it's a spare bedroom," House said. "And I'm not tired yet anyway; I'm staying out here to watch some television. You can't hear the TV as well from my bedroom; it'll disturb you if you sleep in the other room." He walked over to his chair and sat down slowly, resting his cane next to the chair and picking up the TV remote. "I'll sleep in the spare bedroom."

Wilson shrugged. "Okay, House, whatever you want."

House watched as Wilson retreated to his bedroom and closed the door quietly.

Wilson stripped down to his boxers and t-shirt, went into the bathroom, used the facilities, washed up and brushed his teeth with the toothbrush he kept there. He dragged himself to House's bed, dropped down into it, turned out the light and fell asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.

"God… that… that feels so good," Wilson murmured in his sleep.

"I'm glad you like it."

Wilson's eyes popped open_. That was House's voice_, Wilson thought to himself. _Am I dreaming? _He rubbed his eyes with one hand and looked groggily towards the direction he thought he had heard House's voice. He blinked a few times attempting to focus.

House was sitting on the edge of the bed looking down at Wilson, his blue eyes shimmering black in the dimly lit room. He was gently massaging Wilson's back.

"House, what…."

"My Mother always told me never to go to bed angry," House said quietly. Then he leaned down and kissed Wilson softly on the lips.


	5. Chapter 5

Part V

Wilson was convinced that he was dreaming. Reluctantly, he pulled away from House's kiss and stared at him, eyes wide with surprise.

"What? I thought you liked me," House said dejectedly.

"I do," Wilson said, unsure of how to act or what to say. He reached out and touched House's face, trying to assure himself that House was real and that he wasn't, in fact, still asleep.

"Oh… the stubble. Sorry, comes with the package," House said as he rubbed his cheek.

Wilson turned over onto his back and looked up at House who was hovering over him.

"Tell me I'm not dreaming," he said.

"You're not dreaming."

"Tell me so I'll believe you," he said, his insides turning somersaults. He wanted so much to be awake and for this to be real.

"It's not what you say, it's what you do," House said softly, a wicked smile creeping across his lips. He laid his palm on Wilson's chest and slowly slid it down towards the waistband of Wilson's boxers. He stopped.

Wilson suddenly realized his heart was racing and that he was holding his breath. His eyes darted from House's hand to his face, trying to make some sense out of what was happening. He took a few deep breaths attempting to calm himself, but didn't say anything.

"Shall I keep going?" House asked as he lifted the waistband of Wilson's boxers and slid his fingers back and forth along the material.

Wilson wanted more than anything for House to continue, but he was still too disoriented from waking up moments ago. He sat up abruptly; House's hand fell to the bed.

"Dr. Wilson, you are a tease," House said with a hint of a smile.

They sat staring at each other in the darkness, sexual tension permeating the room.

"Do you really want this?" Wilson whispered. His emotions were whirling into a blend of sexual excitement, trepidation, joy and a hint of anger. He wasn't sure if House was playing with him. Maybe if he wasn't so exhausted, and if House hadn't jolted him out of a deep sleep, his mind would be clearer.

"I'm not sure what you mean by 'this'," House said quietly. "But I do know that I want to make you feel good… and I want to sleep with you in my bed tonight." His voice sounded sincere. "And what do you want?" House asked.

"I… I want …". Wilson stopped talking and leaned forward, grabbing House's t-shirt and pulling him closer, drawing their lips together. The kiss was tender and soft; feather wisps of tongue exchanged between the two, but neither man attempted to escalate it further. House placed one hand on Wilson's hip and the other behind his back, drawing him closer. Wilson's hands were clutching House's t-shirt, subconsciously trying to keep him from pulling away. Wilson didn't want this to end.

They continued kissing for a few minutes, House finally breaking the kiss. Wilson looked at him but couldn't read his face. "What?" he asked, quietly.

House looked away from him and ran his fingers through his hair. He turned back to look at Wilson. "I uh…I…" He stopped talking.

Wilson's heart sank. This was all a mistake, but he couldn't fault House. Wilson had been the one who had wanted this and House had tried to give it to him. He cursed himself; what had he been thinking? He never should've said anything. He felt as if his entire friendship with House had ended in these few moments. And it was entirely his fault… why couldn't he leave well enough alone?

He turned towards the side of the bed and started to get out, but was stopped by House grabbing his wrist. "Where are you going?" House asked, a worried expression on his face.

Wilson sighed. "Look, House, I'm sorry," he said, looking away. "I never should've said anything; it was a stupid mistake. I'll spend the rest of the night in the spare bedroom and grab a cab first thing in the morning." Wilson started to get out of the bed again. House grabbed his wrist even harder.

"What are you sorry about?" he asked. Had Wilson been looking at him, he would've seen the confusion on House's face. "I'm certainly not sorry."

Wilson turned back to face him. "What do you have to be sorry for?"

"Well, if memory serves, I'm the one who woke you out of a sound sleep to fondle you, not the other way around…"

"I know, House, but I'm the one who told you I wanted this in the first place. You were only doing this for me…."

House cut him off. "Since when do I things for people when I don't get something in return?" he asked sharply. "And that includes you."

Wilson furrowed his brow attempting to figure this out. "So… what are you saying? That you liked it?"

"Yes, Dr. Wilson, I'm saying that I liked it. That was by far the best action I've had in a very long time," he said, a smile flickering across his lips. "And that includes watching Cuddy bounce across the lobby in her low cut blouses and that hooker masseuse you hired for me."

"But…you… I thought…"

"What," House asked impatiently. "You thought what?"

"You acted like you didn't like it…. "

"I did?" House asked surprised, his eyebrows raised. "That's news to me."

"You turned away." It hurt Wilson just to say those words.

House slowly shook his head. "Dr. James Wilson, the boy wonder oncologist, who possesses not only super human hearing and an adorable little ass to die for, but who sucks at making the right call in bed," House said, a hint of annoyance in his voice.

Wilson shrugged his shoulders. "I just don't want to mess up our friendship," he said avoiding House's gaze.

House sighed. "Look, Wilson, I don't know what your sex life was like with your wives and girlfriends, but if I have something to say in or out of the bedroom, I'll say it," House said.

"So…. you're saying I don't have to read your thoughts and anticipate what you want." Wilson mulled over in his mind what he had just said. "Wow, what a concept."

"Read my thoughts and anticipate what I want?" House asked, incredulously. "You're kidding, right?"

Wilson shook his head. "Dr. House, you have no idea."

"No wonder you want to sleep with a guy," House said, shuddering. "So…. you thought I wasn't interested."

"Uh…. yeah, that's what I thought."

"And you supposedly read my thoughts?"

"I never said I was good at it."

"Dr. Wilson, that is an understatement," House said as he reached out and whisked away a lock of stray hair from Wilson's forehead. "And all that nonsense is just one reason why I often prefer sleeping with men," House said.

"Uh…. what?"

"Not to mention that annoying cuddling thing that women seem to insist on doing after sex," House added. "Don't they realize I need my sleep?" He smirked.

"What are you talking about, House?" Wilson asked, a total look of confusion on his face.

House said nothing; he crossed his arms across his chest and looked at Wilson.

"House, you sleep with guys?" Wilson's mouth was wide open.

"You look surprised," House said, smiling. "But I haven't in quite some time," he qualified.

"Surprise doesn't cover it," Wilson said. He thought for a moment. "And you like it?"

"That's a stupid question," House snapped. "I just told you that I never do anything without getting something in return."

"Why did you stop?" asked Wilson, totally fascinated by House's revelation.

"What makes you think I stopped?"

"You didn't?"

"Let's just say, circumstances precluded my continuing."

"What circumstances?"

"I fell in love with Stacy," House said quietly.

"Oh," Wilson said looking down. He returned his gaze to House. "And now?"

"Dry spell…. on both sides," House said. "Well, until tonight anyway."

"Did you do it just for the sex?"

"My, my, Dr. Wilson, I guess you're the curious type after all," House quipped. "No….well, yes… but I also had relationships."

"Wow", Wilson mumbled to himself, rubbing the back of his neck.

They both sat silently for a few moments.

"Okay, so now you know," House said. "And, you, Dr. Wilson, what haven't you told me?" he asked, eyes boring into Wilson's.

Wilson looked at House, a questioning look on his face. They stared at each other for a few moments, and then Wilson understood what House was asking him. His eyes opened wide. "What…. how could you know that?"

"Call it a hunch," House said. A doubtful expression settled on Wilson's face. "Well, duh," House barked, "you wanted to sleep with me; no straight guy wants to sleep with another guy no matter how much he likes him." Wilson nodded slowly, then shrugged his shoulders. "And then there's that entire overcompensation thing," House added.

"What 'overcompensation thing'?" Wilson asked annoyed.

"Three marriages, flirting with anything in a skirt, comments about women's breasts. Shall I go on?"

"Okay, House. So I'm transparent."

"Why didn't you want me to know?" House asked, crossing his arms across his chest again.

"It's not that I didn't want you to know," Wilson tried to explain. He thought for a moment. "Well…maybe it was. But I was going to tell you." He looked into House's eyes, sincerity apparent in his own.

"So now we're here," House said, rubbing his forefinger along his chin in contemplation.

He took a deep breath and looked into Wilson's eyes. "Look James, what I wanted to say earlier was that…right now… this is enough for me," he said quietly. 'I still need you to give me some time; I can't do this again and expect to come out alive if things don't work out." He paused. "So, are you okay with that?"

Wilson nodded; he understood exactly what House was talking about. "Yeah, House, I'm good, I mean, you're good… " He shook his head in frustration. "I'm actually quite good with that."

"Yes, Dr. Wilson, you are quite good," House said as he leaned forward and kissed Wilson again. Wilson responded, kissing House so passionately, House almost changed his mind. He pulled back. "Jesus, Wilson, you should patent that."

"It would be a waste of time and money," Wilson said. "It only works for you."

"Yeah, and you also have a bridge to sell me," House said smiling, as he carefully got out of bed and stood up, holding onto the headboard for leverage. "Move over so I can get under the covers," he said.

Wilson slid over to make room. House sat down on the edge of the bed and lifted his left leg up, using his hands to help get his right leg into position. Wilson, still sitting up, settled the blanket over both of them as he watched House get comfortable. House looked up at him.

"What, are you going to watch me all night?" he asked.

Wilson didn't answer. He turned over onto his stomach and slid closer to House, laying his head on the pillow and resting his left arm across House's chest. House interlaced the fingers of his right hand with Wilson's left.

"See you in the morning," House said sleepily. "Oh yeah, I forgot to ask… you don't snore, do you?"

"If I do you can kick me out of bed," Wilson said smiling, his eyes closed.

"Not a chance."

"House?"

"Hmm?"

"Remind me to thank your Mother."


End file.
